


Shower Song

by princessbelle212



Category: South Park
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessbelle212/pseuds/princessbelle212
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christophe always gets filthy after jobs. Gregory bribes him into the shower. Porn with a little plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shower Song

The tunnel into the supermarket was almost complete. Christophe threw his shovel out of the pit and hoisted himself up after it. It was a more complex tunnel than his normal narrow affairs, and had to avoid the foundations of surrounding buildings. He’d been working on it for almost a full week, which was impressive considering all the concrete foundation he’d had to avoid. He felt like he’d barely left the dark, rich surroundings of the earth, but Gregory had dragged him out at least twice a day and shoved food and coffee down his mouth (only after he’d thoroughly washed his hands, of course). 

Normally, Gregory made Christophe take digging breaks every hour, but Christophe appreciated the less-frequent visits on a job this important. The store into which they were digging was a major money laundering facility for PrissyPants Productions, the most evil fucking corporation in existence in his opinion. Of course, his opinion was probably biased, since the damn thing was founded by Cartman and Jennifer Lopez. Fucking bitches. They’d slowly corrupted the world with a combination of cheap, highly fucking addictive pharmaceuticals and trashy music videos, and Cartman was rolling around in piles of fucking money like a worm. 

PPP only stayed in business because of the fucking drugs. After addicting half the population and increasing global productivity by twenty percent, Cartman was rich and influential enough to be untouchable.

Kyle had founded their resistance movement, hellbent on taking Cartman down with corporate espionage, theft, and sabotage. Christophe wasn’t much good with the computer hacker-y portions, but fuck if he wasn’t their greatest asset when it came to stealing physical money (the virtual kind was fucking bullshit) and to blowing shit up, and generally pissing Cartman the fuck off. There was a running tally at QG of who Cartman threatened the most in his press releases. Kyle was at the top, naturally, but Christophe was quite proud of his and Gregory’s distant second place. 

The tally leaderboard was one of the few entertainments the resistance group allowed themselves. Cartman was taking over the world faster than they could take him down, and there was a palpable level of tension humming around the resistance fighters. It made Gregory turn to cigarettes, and made Wendy hide all of Stan’s alcohol, and turned Kyle towards his computers until Stan dragged him, hollow-eyed and silent, into the presence of other humans again. Christophe could feel it in himself, too, but the hours of daily digging helped keep him sane. Skirting through the streets at night after a day’s work with his shovel on his back was a habit he’d retained from before Cartman’s takeover, and it brought him comfort. 

He passed like a shadow between the buildings of New Denver, avoiding the too-wide eyes of curious people. Everyone else was absorbed in the menial tasks that occupied the after-dark: carrying towers of groceries into houses, repairing fizzing technology, walking thirty dogs at once, and they paid no attention to him. Some of the dogs growled at him, of course, but he snarled back at them under his breath and took detours to avoid the bigger groups of the fucking bitches.

The people as a whole were too drug-focused on their tasks to notice him, but to ensure the security of their operation, he kept to the shadows of buildings and to the alleys littered with wretched people writhing from withdrawal symptoms. It was like fucking heroin, and could kill them if they were too addicted, which he knew far too well. Fucking bullshit. Once he was a kilometre or so away from his exit route, he rounded a corner and stalked down another identical alley. This one had a manhole cover in the middle of the street, though, filthy and covered in trash. It looked similar enough to the other round pieces of metal stuck in the streets, but with a closer look it became clear that the metal was different. Gregory had helped Christophe replace the wrought iron with a lightweight steel alloy to provide a quick escape route.

The strung-out addicts did nothing more than roll their eyes in his direction at the first scrape of metal over concrete, but as always, they did nothing to bother him. When the grate was out of the way, he swung down into the empty old tunnel and stashed his bag of pills in a little hole he’d carved out. The place was barren, dark, and dank. Smog hung in the air, and Christophe coughed once, trying not to breathe the oppressive old smell of everything unwanted. It wasn’t far to the section he’d portioned out into a small tunnel, one that led to his expansive underground network. 

His tunnel system was an intentional maze. With the human race working at higher speeds, it was only a matter of time before they worked out how the little band of revolutionaries was moving about the city without notice, and Christophe had been determined to delay the rest of humanity finding the base as best he could. 

He never got lost, though. He could sense how the dirt moved, how the vibrations ran through the earth and echoed in the hollowed out paths. It was some sort of superpower or bullshit, he was convinced, and it only got more specific when he was soaring. God was a fucking asshole, giving him just enough of a superiority complex to not want to fucking off himself, especially when his talents made Gregory’s eyes gleam in satisfaction. He’d blow up the world and his own brain to see Gregory’s half smile.

Four rights, a left, and another curve to the right, and he reached the wall of dirt with hand and foot-holds chiseled into it. He hauled himself up and out of the pit and into the basement of one of their safe buildings. 

His shovel and bag of supplies got dropped carelessly to the ground with a thump. There was a startled noise from a corner of the drab room from a figure bathed in the fake blue-green light of multiple computer terminals. 

“Mole,” Kyle said after he’d swiveled around in his computer chair. His eyes were sunken in his head and his hair was a dirty puff of red falling around his ears, except for the bare marks by his temples and the shaved patch at the base of his skull. He’d been pushing himself too hard again, naturally. “Oh, thank fuck. You finished with this bullshit yet? Gregory’s been driving us up the wall.”

“None of your fucking business, putain,” Christophe grunted, and brushed past the redhead and up the stairs, lighting a cigarette as he went.

“You know you’re not supposed to smoke in here, dumbass,” Kyle called after him, but Christophe ignored him. The nicotine helped.

The main floor of their temporary headquarters had much better lighting than the basement, but even still, very little sunlight was allowed to filter in through the slats over the windows. Fluorescents hummed in the background, but the difference from the darkness of his tunnel and basement and the fake brightness offered by the lights made him curse and screw up his eyes in annoyance. His head throbbed.

“Where the fuck is Gregory?” he demanded of the next person he passed. It was Stan, naturally. 

“I don’t know, dude, probably stalking around that room or ranting at Wendy or something!” Stan held up his hands defensively. Christophe flipped him off and stalked past him, heading towards the stairs.

“I hope you get that project done soon so we can get some peace around here,” Stan called after him, but Christophe just flipped him off with the other hand and took the stairs two at a time.

Up four flights, he turned right down a hallway that was just as brightly fluorescent as the first floor. The hallway had evenly spaced doors and patches of paint that were less faded next to each, the remnants of number plates. A faded, generic pattern scattered across the carpet, and the peeling wallpaper was striped in a pleasant, unobtrusive green.

There was nothing on the door to mark the suite Gregory had claimed, aside from the plaque reading 415. Christophe’s boots had marched him to the front of the door without his conscious thought. 

He barged into Gregory’s room without bothering to knock. The electronic locks were long broken, and Gregory, of course, had once again forgotten to fasten the security bolt. The door banged open, and there was a yelp from the other side of the room.

Gregory had whirled to face him, his look of surprise quickly smoothing over into one of cool indifference as he spotted Christophe. His hand fell back to the table, a casual motion that a normal observer would have missed. Christophe saw it, though, and knew that Gregory had gone to grab his gun.

Good, he thought. Gregory had been getting far too lax about security, in his opinion.

Gregory was obviously annoyed at the interruption, and turned away from Christophe to resume staring down at his tablet computer. He tapped the screen in silence for a minute while Christophe stood in the door watching him. 

Eventually, Christophe sighed and shut the door behind him, then dumped his shovel and guns on the floor in a heap.

“At least put those in a corner out of the way,” Gregory said, his posh fucking accent more pronounced. It was a clear indication of his annoyance, but he didn’t so much as look up from the screen.

Christophe rolled his eyes but did as he was told, toeing the tools out of the way. He stomped into the main room and slumped down in a chair to take off his boots. He tossed them aside too, then lit a cigarette. The click of the lighter was unnaturally loud as the silence spread. 

He blew out a long stream of smoke before giving in to Gregory’s reticence. “So what’s the problem then, princesse?” he asked, flicking ash in Gregory’s direction.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Gregory said loftily, still not looking up.

Christophe shrugged, and smoked his cigarette down to the filter in silence. When the nicotine had run out, he felt his brain starting to shift down into normal efficiency levels. His eyelids started to get heavy, and time seemed to change. He watched with dull fascination as the ash fell from the end of the cigarette onto the floor. 

“You’re making a mess,” Gregory said.

Christophe glanced up at him again, but Gregory’s eyes were still resolutely fixed on the screen. The blond knew him too fucking well. He sighed and scuffed his boot over the microscopic ash pile.

“Who gives a fuck, princesse? This place is a shithole anyway. Ce n’est pas un probleme.” 

Gregory made a scoffing sound, and finally glared up at Christophe, his eyes an angry stormy blue. “That’s no reason to be apathetic about the cleanliness of your surroundings,” he snapped, and turned fully towards Christophe. “But I suppose I should be grateful for your apathy, because that’s what caused you to leave this out in the bathroom.” He slapped a familiar bottle down onto the table. “I should have known you were soaring again. How else could that tunnel have been done so fast.” 

Underneath the glare in Gregory’s eyes was a look of hurt and betrayal. Guilt swooped through Christophe’s stomach, but he met Gregory’s eyes with a defiant scowl. “I had to. I can’t dig fast enough, not enough to keep up with Cartman’s shit.” 

His actions had been justified. Gregory could be upset all he wanted, but he couldn’t deny the necessity of performance enhancement. 

“You know what happens when you take too much,” Gregory hissed, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists around the armrests of his chair.

“Ouais, brain function and neuron connections and bullshit,” Christophe growled, glaring back at Gregory. “If I want a lecture on it, princesse, I will go ask Kyle for one. I know what it does. I also fucking know what the withdrawal is like, in case you’d fucking forgotten, and that’s more than you can say.” 

He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the last remnants of the smoke in his mouth. He hadn’t even taken enough to give any sort of lasting effect. The single dose was barely enough to overcome his tolerance, and the nicotine helped relax his brain even more. “I’ll be fucking fine. I just took enough to finish the damn project. I didn’t think you’d mind this goddamn fucking much.” 

Gregory just glared up at him through his eyelashes, managing to look supremely disdainful. “It doesn’t matter how much or how little you take, Christophe. It was hell getting you off it, and no amount of efficiency is worth the risk of you getting addicted again.”

“Whatever,” Christophe muttered, and looked away. He didn’t want to admit to himself how much Gregory’s approval mattered to him, so he buried his guilt in a pit of indifference. He wasn’t bad like he had been, so Gregory’s reaction was completely illogical.

“I’m serious, Totophe,” Gregory said, his voice softening as he rose from his chair. He walked over to Christophe’s chair and knelt in front of him. “Don’t do that to me again. You have no idea what I went through to get you out of there, and back into your own head. What happens when we have a more important job, then? Everything we do is important, so don’t use that shite as an excuse with me.”

Christophe slouched in his chair, but he briefly met Gregory’s gaze. There was still anger in his eyes, but they were mostly full of a deep concern that made Christophe’s guts roil. Gregory only said his nickname when he really wanted Christophe to pay attention, and Christophe had a much harder time ignoring him.

“I’m not that bad, princesse,” he muttered, and brushed his fingertips over Gregory’s cheekbone, though he didn’t meet his eyes again. “I do not ever want to be that bad again. It was just for the job. The one job. And it is done now, and the bottle is gone, so there is nothing to worry about.” Except the hollow ache in his skull where he felt thoughts and feelings should be. Just the drug, he told himself firmly. The lack of activity was normal.

“It’s not that easy,” Gregory said, and reached down to pull Christophe up. “The not worrying, I mean, naturally. You do not make indifference easy.” He sighed and looked away. “You need to clean yourself up. Come on, you’re filthy.”  
Christophe reluctantly got to his feet, following after Gregory through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom. 

*********

The bathroom was hotel standard, with a deluxe large tub and separate shower. Christophe hated everything about the room. Gregory managed to keep it clean enough, though there were little piles of dirt in the corners that made Christophe smirk. 

“Boots off, first, then weapons. They go on the counter, Christophe and not on the floor. We don’t want any accidents now, hm.”

Christophe hated Gregory’s patronizing tone, and he glared down at the blond. Resistance was pointless as fuck though, so he sighed and sat on the edge of the bath. Crusted chunks of dried dirt flaked off his boots as he untangled the laces and unzipped them. The socks underneath had once been green, but now they matched the dirt scattered on the floor. Christophe peeled them off too, and tossed them and the boots under the sink counter. 

Gregory stood watching, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. He didn’t show any sign of leaving, so Christophe raised his eyebrows and made a show of unbuckling his leg holster, his shoulder holster, and his belt of ammo. They swung ominously until he tossed them over onto the counter.

“There, happy?” he asked, scowling over at Gregory. 

“No, of course not. Don’t be an imbecile. Do you want a bath or a shower? And don’t you dare tell me neither, because you are covered in sewer filth and god knows what else, and I am not standing for that.”

“Don’t bring God into this shit,” Christophe hissed, “if he wants me to be clean then I will not do it, because he is a bitch.” 

Gregory rolled his eyes. “Yes, and he hates you, and how can he let people live like this, et cetera. Have you considered that perhaps he does not care at all whether you are filthy or clean, so by taking time out of your precious schedule to take a shower, you are lessening your chance that he is paying attention to you?”

“Whatever. He puts me on this damn fucking rock, and then does not pay attention to me too? That makes him more of a bitch. But I will do this for you instead. That is more acceptable.”

“Fine. Pants and shirt too, Christophe. You are not getting away with that again either. Laundering machines were invented for a reason.” Gregory leaned back against the wall and averted his eyes.

“Fucking prude,” Christophe muttered, and stripped off the rest of his clothes. Being naked in front of Gregory could only lead to mutual benefit, so he sauntered over to the shower and flipped the blond off with one hand while he turned on the cold water. Hot showers were for bitches. “Aren’t you going to make sure I use soap or some shit, or have you decided that I can be trusted enough?”

“I don’t think trust will be an issue anymore,” Gregory snapped, and smacked the empty prescription bottle onto the counter. The anger had overcome his embarrassment, at least, and Christophe leered at him.

“Well, come on then. It is not like I mind, hah.” 

“Fine. Turn on the hot water, and don’t you dare try anything. You’re not clever.”

Gregory had his clothes stripped off and had joined Christophe in the shower before the water had had a chance to heat up. Christophe could see goosebumps rise on his skin as soon as the cold water hit him. 

“Fuck,” Gregory cursed, and moved to put Christophe in the path of the water instead. “If you actually figured out how to take a shower like a civilized adult, you might enjoy them more, you know.”

Christophe just rolled his eyes. “It is not my fault you are such a fucking pussy, princesse. Cold water is good for you and shit.”

“Well, it’s a miracle we even have hot water again, so I can’t imagine why you’re not taking advantage of it,” Gregory replied waspishly. He grabbed a bar of soap and started lathering up his hands. It smelled like nothing. Christophe refused to use pussyass fruity soap, and Gregory had given up that argument ages ago.

The water turned warm by the time Gregory started scrubbing his hands over Christophe’s back.

Christophe stood grumpily, arms folded over his chest as he pouted. He hated goddamn soap.

“Bloody hell, Christophe, what the hell were you doing to get this much dirt under your skin? Rolling around with the dogs?”

“I fucking hate dogs, bitch,” Christophe snarled, stiffening under Gregory’s hands. “I was just digging with no shirt, pas problem.”  
“You’re fucking impossible,” Gregory muttered, and pushed at Christophe’s shoulders until he turned around. “Next time, shirt on, please, and no more of those fucking drugs.”

He glared up at Christophe, his blue eyes cold and flat.

Another twinge of guilt shot through Christophe, followed by sullen resentment. Trust Gregory to prey on his fucking emotions when he was all vulnerable and wet and naked. Fucking bitch.

“Whatever, princesse,” he said, glaring back at Gregory. 

He bent down to stop the conversation with a kiss, but Gregory caught him around the throat before their lips could meet. 

“Not until you’ve cleaned up,” Gregory snarled, his fingers tightening around Christophe’s throat.

Christophe reached up and grabbed Gregory’s wrist, tearing the hand away from his throat. Gregory fought back halfheartedly, reaching for him again while Christophe batted his attempts away.

“Fine, princesse,” Christophe growled, and snatched the soap for himself. He performed a perfunctory scrubbing, shuddering a bit as he felt the dirt run off his skin.

“No cuts, no scabs?” Gregory asked as he scanned Christophe for any hidden wounds. 

“I’m fucking fine,” Christophe said, and he grabbed Gregory around the waist and pulled him forward into a kiss.

Gregory struggled for a moment, and Christophe let him go when Gregory’s teeth bit into his bottom lip.

“Your hair, Totophe.”

Christophe made an exasperated sound and scrubbed the soap bar furiously over his hair once. He was too quick about it though, and a trail of soap ran into his eye. He cursed loudly and tipped his face back under the water to clear his eye out. He fucking hated soap.

He could tell Gregory was trying not to laugh at him, but the blond still took the bar of soap from him and started to rub his fingers through Christophe’s wiry hair until the dirt washed away.

“There, isn’t that better?” Gregory murmured, taking a step closer to Christophe. “I can touch your hair more easily.

Christophe squinted at him, one eye still screwed up from the stinging, and didn’t bother replying. It was nice, he supposed, feeling Gregory’s fingers comb through his hair without tangles and dirt stopping their progress, but he’d be fucked if he gave the blond the satisfaction of agreement.

He just scowled at Gregory until the blond let out a light laugh, and leaned forward to kiss the scowl off of his face. 

“Everything else aside,” Gregory said, his voice still soft, “I’m glad you’re all right, at least. For what it’s worth. I just wish-”

“I know,” Christophe cut in, stopping Gregory’s admonishment with another kiss. “I know princesse. I am trying, ouais? You make me want to try.”

Gregory gave him a tight smile, then leaned forward until his body was pressed tightly up against Christophe’s. 

Christophe could feel every firm plane of Gregory’s chest as their kiss deepened. The warm water wasn’t as unwelcome as Christophe complained, and it slid over them as Christophe’s tongue slipped into Gregory’s open mouth.

Their movements took on a familiar pace, Christophe guiding Gregory against him as their breathing got more frantic. Soon Christophe found his fist tangled in Gregory’s hair, and he pulled until Gregory let out a broken gasp and tipped his head back. Christophe kissed his way down Gregory’s throat, sinking his teeth into the tendons until Gregory cried out. He traced the line of Gregory’s collarbone with his tongue, then wrapped his arms around Gregory, holding him tight as he found his mouth again.

Gregory was never free with his feelings, but it was in moments like this that Christophe caught a glimpse of how deeply the blond cared for him. Blue eyes bored into his, pupils dilated, and it was with a sudden desperation that Gregory met Christophe’s tongue and dug his fingers into Christophe’s scarred shoulders. His thumb traced over the round scar from a bullet hole, then traced over the lines of Christophe’s tattoos. His hands slipped over Christophe’s back and he slid one up into Christophe’s hair and pressed back against him, lifting onto his toes for a better angle.

They held each other as the water rained over them, their mouths never disconnecting. Clutching Gregory close was one of the few things that could help Christophe forget the job they had to do, and the danger they faced daily. He could forget his addiction, could forget Gregory’s bouts of temper, and could forget all the havoc that had been wreaked upon them all while he had Gregory alone and against him. 

He could feel tension drain out of Gregory’s muscles as his hands traced patterns over his back. Gregory didn’t have nearly as many scars, but there were a few bumps and indentations from various bits of flying shrapnel. They dotted the smooth expanse of his back like landmarks on a map, and Christophe traced paths between them with his fingers. 

Gregory gasped into Christophe’s mouth when Christophe’s hands slid down to the base of his spine, and he pressed himself forward so Christophe could feel how hard his cock was. It twitched against Christophe’s when he pressed his fingers into the cleft of Gregory’s ass. 

Gregory choked off a moan by breaking the kiss and biting down on Christophe’s collarbone. He seemed unsure whether to press forward and increase the friction on their cocks, or to press backwards to encourage Christophe’s wandering fingers. Christophe took pity on him and started grinding against him, enjoying the slippery addition of the water. He gripped Gregory’s hip hard enough to bruise with one hand, and continued teasing the sensitive skin behind Gregory’s balls. 

Christophe grunted when Gregory pulled his hair, feeling desperation rising to match Gregory’s own. “Fuck, princesse, let me suck you off,” he murmured against Gregory’s ear, and took the low moan in response as affirmation. He dropped to his knees and wasted no time running his tongue up the underside of Gregory’s dick.

The water had washed away any taste, but Christophe still enjoyed the heavy heat of cock in his mouth. Gregory’s wasn’t the biggest he’d ever seen, not by any means, but the low groan Gregory gave every time Christophe closed his mouth around his dick was enough to convince Christophe that he’d never have any desire to give a different person a blowjob. 

Gregory convulsively gripped the back of his hair, and Christophe could hear his other hand slamming into the shower wall to keep himself upright. He chuckled to himself, the sound vibrating around Gregory’s cock, and deepthroated him until his nose was pressed against Gregory’s wet hair. He held himself in place just long enough for Gregory to start thrusting his hips forward, then pulled back to start moving at his own rhythm. Gregory made a frustrated little sound, and Christophe took pity on him by moving his fingers back along the crack of Gregory’s ass and pressing a fingertip inside him, just enough that Gregory pushed back against him. 

Water made terrible lube, though, so Christophe didn’t play with him for long. Instead, he kept running his fingers lighting over Gregory’s entrance while he bobbed his head, enjoying the rhythmic feel of Gregory’s cock sliding over his tongue. 

It felt like mere moments before Gregory gasped and pulled Christophe off his dick and to his feet “Stop, Totophe, stop or you won’t get the chance to fuck me,” he breathed against Christophe’s cheek, his chest heaving and his face flushed. 

“Est ce que tu veux?” Christophe asked in reply, earning himself a glare that was marred by the deep flush on Gregory’s cheeks.

“Naturellement, putain,” Gregory hissed, and wrenched the corner of the curtain aside so he could grab the bottle of lube. He smacked it into Christophe’s hand. “I’m growing impatient, you know.”

Christophe grinned and uncapped the bottle, slathering his fingers and trying not to let the water wash the lube away. Gregory had turned away and was facing the opposite wall, arms bracing himself upright. Christophe pressed up behind him and started to trace kisses along his shoulders while he spread lube all down the cleft of Gregory’s ass.

Gregory gasped when Christophe finally slid a finger inside him and pressed back. Christophe smiled against his shoulder blade and started slowly thrusting in and out. It wasn’t long before Gregory’s hands clenched into fists against the wall.

“You move as fast as a tortoise. Hurry the fuck up.”

Christophe laughed and did as he was told. His second finger joined the first easily, and he began to stretch the tight muscle. With his fingers completely inside Gregory, he could find the blond’s prostate, and he had to wrap a free hand around Gregory’s waist to keep him from falling from the intensity of the sensation. The new position allowed Christophe to stroke Gregory’s dick in time with his finger’s movements, and Gregory let his head fall back on Christophe’s shoulder. 

“Another, quickly, and I’ll be ready,” Gregory said, his voice impressively steady considering the rapid pace of his breathing. Christophe wanted to see him break completely though, so he took his time once he added his third finger. Gregory was warm and tight and willing too, so he saw no reason not to drive him to the edge.

He kissed up Gregory’s neck to his ear, and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. Gregory made a choked-off noise and pushed back against his fingers. He was growing frantic, which was just as well because Christophe’s balls were unbearably heavy with the need for release. The warm shower water didn’t match the heat of Gregory’s skin, so he pressed in deeper and pulled Gregory’s back harder against his chest. The blond’s head lolled back against his shoulder. 

“I can’t- Christophe, please,” Gregory growled, and turned his head to bite sharply at Christophe’s neck. “Now, goddamnit.”

“Ouais,” Christophe replied, all intelligent speech deactivated by the feel of Gregory’s skin and the crash off of the drugs. 

He had to slide his fingers out of Gregory to grab the lube again, and hastily smeared it over his dick when he heard Gregory’s hiss of annoyance.

It only took a moment for him to sheath himself in the heat of Gregory’s body, and he wished the world would end so he’d never have to leave that moment. Gregory moaned, finally, when he was all the way in, and the sound made Christophe start moving frantically. His brain was too gone to control himself, and he set a hard fast pace that knocked Gregory forward. He had to brace himself against the wall with both hands as Christophe grabbed his hips and slammed into him.

Gregory’s spine seemed to go boneless as he melted under Christophe’s thrusts, his head lolling down between his arms. Christophe let go of his hip with one hand and grabbed his hair, pulling backwards until Gregory moaned again and had to let one hand off the wall. 

When Gregory started stroking his own cock, Christophe knew he couldn’t last much longer. He put the rest of his effort into quickening his pace. Gregory’s gasps turned into a continuous, undulating moan, and he came hard, cum splattering on the wall until the water from the shower washed it away.

The convulsive shudders did nothing for Christophe’s endurance, and he grunted and bit into Gregory’s shoulder as he came, arms shaking around Gregory. He found he could no longer hold the blond up, and they both stumbled to sit in the bathtub, panting.

Christophe pulled Gregory back against him and the water washed down over them both.

“Well,” Gregory said, panting. “That takes care of that. You’ve come down now, right?”

“Oui,” Christophe slurred. His tongue and limbs no longer seemed to be able to function properly. He stared at the back of Gregory’s head as his vision started to go black around the edges.

“That’s what I figured,” Gregory sighed, and got slowly to his feet. Even through his haze, Christophe could sense Gregory’s reluctance to move, and he tugged feebly at his wrist, trying to get him to stay.

“Bed,” Gregory instructed, and hauled Christophe to his feet. 

Christophe almost slipped on the wet floor of the shower, but Gregory caught him and started to drag him, wet and naked, to the bed. 

“You have to sleep it off. Your neural function should have returned to normal after a complete REM cycle, given that level of physical exertion. It was the most efficient way to jumpstart you.” Gregory sounded entirely clinical and dispassionate, and Christophe only had time to feel a small prickle of hurt before he started to black out. Christophe was too much of a fuck up for Gregory, and he didn’t need the blond to remind him that whatever Gregory allowed between them was only for the benefit of The Revolution.

He growled sullenly as tiredness forced his eyes closed, but he thought he felt a brush of fingers over his hair. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Gregory said softly, and bent down to brush a kiss over his cheek.

Christophe tried look at Gregory, suddenly confused, but sleep overcame him before he could formulate a thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was initially dreamed up because of this article: http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-manchester-26663093
> 
> Then it evolved into a world that I'll be expanding for nanowrimo.
> 
> Mostly, though, I wanted to write more smut.


End file.
